But the atmosphere had changed.
People weren't listening to her with the same confidence.
And I could tell she knew it.
The following morning, I received a violation notice.
It claimed that my doorbell camera was an unauthorized exterior surveillance device affecting the privacy of neighboring properties.
I stared at it.
The camera had been installed before we moved in.
It was visible in the listing photographs.
And several other houses in the neighborhood had nearly identical devices.
I checked the association's architectural guidelines.
There was no provision categorically prohibiting doorbell cameras.
I sent a polite response asking for the exact rule and noting that the device was aimed at my own porch and driveway.
Two days later, another notice arrived.
This one concerned an allegedly unapproved sign near the entrance.
The sign was our ordinary welcome mat.
My wife read it.
Then she looked at me.
"She's recycling complaints now."
I laughed.
But the timing troubled me.
The president had taken one of my packages.
I'd asked about it publicly.
Now the association was issuing new notices that seemed designed to pressure me into silence.
I didn't assume retaliation without evidence.
I documented the timing and preserved the correspondence.
Then I received an email from the president's office.
Repeated public accusations against community leadership may constitute harassment and may result in further enforcement action.
I looked at the message for a long time.
Then I forwarded it to the attorney I'd consulted about our HOA rights.
His response was brief.
Preserve this. Don't argue by email.
I agreed.
And I began thinking carefully about how to obtain evidence that would answer the one question nobody at the association seemed willing to address.
What happened to the packages after they left our porches?
The answer began with a delivery driver.
He was a young man who worked one of the regular routes through Willow Brook Estates. I'd seen him many times, usually carrying boxes while trying to finish his stops before the afternoon traffic became unbearable.
One Friday, he delivered a large package to our house while I was working in the garage.
I thanked him.
Then I asked whether he'd been having any trouble with deliveries in the neighborhood.
He hesitated.
"What kind of trouble?"
"Missing parcels."
His expression changed.
He looked toward the street.
Then he lowered his voice.
"You're not the first person to ask."
I nodded.
"I figured."
He shifted the handheld scanner in his hand.
"Some customers say they never received things we photographed at their doors."
"Does that happen elsewhere?"
"Sometimes."
He paused.
"But this neighborhood's unusual."
I leaned against the garage frame.
"How?"
He looked toward the entrance.